


all sins are attempts to fill voids

by pissard



Series: motion sickness [1]
Category: The Goldfinch (2019), The Goldfinch - Donna Tartt
Genre: First Time, Friends to Lovers, M/M, Recreational Drug Use
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-26
Updated: 2019-09-26
Packaged: 2020-10-28 11:00:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,046
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20777465
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pissard/pseuds/pissard
Summary: It all comes together in the end, eventually.





	all sins are attempts to fill voids

> “_All sins are attempts to fill voids.”_
> 
> ― Simone Weil

* * *

The first time it happens it’s more of an accident.

When Theo first started traveling to find all of Hobie’s changelings he had received an email from an address he didn’t recognize but the body of the email was unmistakably Boris. It was from there that a small but regular correspondence started between them

Neither of them went into much detail about their lives. It was mostly passing thoughts. Boris liked to tell Theo his most random passing thoughts. Theo liked to tell Boris what funny things happened in airport terminals. It worked.

Then one day, about two months into this. Theo mentioned in passing that he was in Paris.

_12:08am_  
_no way, I am in Paris to, tonight. where are you?_

_12:15_  
_Quartier du Val-de-Grâce._

_12:16_  
_can be there in 1 hr._

Theo stared at his phone, brows furrowed. He wanted to tell Boris no but another, deeper part of him craved. His pursuit of the changelings had been extremely lonely. Theo had of course called Hobie a few times and even Mrs. Barbour once or twice.

He hadn’t worked up the nerve to even write Pippa back yet after her letter. That wound was still too raw. Kitsey liked to text him every so often but would take days to reply back and that suited Theo just fine. But with Boris it had returned to their old ways, constant companions. It was risky, though, a path that could lead down to bad choices…

_12:21_  
_ok. bring wine._

So begun Theo crashing headlong into another childhood addiction: Boris Pavlikovsky. It’s easy to fall back into their old habits. For the most part it’s a healthier one, at least. Theo had all but kicked his drug habit. Weed was acceptable, alcohol unavoidable, but everything else was off limits.

Boris was surprisingly more accepting of this than Theo thought he’d be. He didn’t assume that Boris would cajole him or tease him or some kind of bullshit like that but… Theo hadn’t sure. It was hard to describe. So much of their friendship had revolved around them being so incomprehensibly fucked up that the idea it could continue without that crutch.

_4:07am_  
_where r u now?_

_4:24am_  
_I think we’re over seoul_

It took him until the second time they met, this time in a little pub outside of Dublin--a wayward layover due to bad weather--to realize that when they’d have their misadventure recovering the Goldfinch it had been mostly sober. Theo had been so tightly wrung with anxiety he didn’t think he could’ve handled anything even if it’d been offered. Of course, not that it really mattered, it had been all downhill from there. Five hundred bad choices leading him to think that taking a line of dope, half of a hotel mini-bar and the of the highest dosage of Oxy Theo’d ever taken in his life. It hadn’t been enough to finish him off but it was enough to make him realize he should probably stop.

Boris hadn’t even questioned it. Theo had firmly said _No_ the first time he’d been asked and Boris had backed off immediately. _Of course, Potter, whatever you like._

When they meet they didn’t do much of anything when they could meet. They lazed around in Theo’s hotel room and watched movies on the pay-per-view, went to a local bar or grab dinner. What Theo guessed friends did---not that he was very familiar.

It didn’t really matter. Theo did his best to uncomplicate this. At first he’d wondered if he should be angry at Boris. Things had been so fucked up.

It was impossible to be mad at Boris. It always had been. Boris would turn to look at him with that wicked grin and a cruel look in his black eyes and Theo would be done. Undone. There was no arguing with it, only to succumb.

And succumb Theo did. Half a year into his search for the changelings and this time it was Rome. A hot, brutal summer that was unlike anything Theo had experienced before and Rome was humid. All of his shirts were soaked through by the end of each day, even with the expensive climate control in the client’s mansion. It was just too pervasive.

Why Boris was in Rome was a mystery. Why Boris was anywhere was always a mystery. Theo never asked. He didn’t think it was a secret but he didn’t want to know.

Boris had an apartment he’d been staying in---_”’Room sharing,’ Potter, have you heard of this? Magnificent.”_\---a small postage stamp of a room that stank of patchouli and had exactly one massive bed in it and a bathroom. No kitchen. The bathroom was the best appeal with a massive claw-foot bathtub that had a view out over the hills of Rome and just a hint of the Colosseum.

Theo had passed out on the bed sometime around midnight while they’d been watching an American movie badly dubbed in Italian. Their night had been abhorrently lazy. Between a bottle of wine that Theo’s client had given him and a bottle of cognac that Boris had supplied they were properly sloshed by eight. They made a game of trying to guess the original dialog of the movie, laughing uproariously at the wild lines they were creating. Theo was secretly cheating, having seen the movie when it’d come out years ago.

What woke him hours later in the small hours of the morning, Theo didn’t know. The summer air was thick and stale in the room, the only sound was the white noise of the floor fan pointed at the bed.

The light was on in the bathroom and the door and just opened a crack. Theo got unsteadily to his feet and crossed the small space to push the door open. Boris sat in the tub, water filled up as high as it would go, his knees hanging out over the rim of the tub and a lit cigarette in his hand.

“Did I wake you?”

“No,” Theo grumbled. He knew he should be embarrassed or Boris should be. Someone should be embarrassed.

Boris took a slow drag of his cigarette. The warm, rose-coloured glow of the bathroom lamp made his skin look silky smooth. There something inside of Theo like burning embers and sweat prickles all along his arms, the hair there standing on end.

All the while, Boris stared back at him with an unreadable gaze.

“I’m going back to bed.”

It’s a while before they meet again. Theo may or may not be avoiding Boris. It’s a ridiculous concept. There are months between when they see each other, pure chance that their paths cross and in a different city each time. But he took his time responding to texts or doesn’t call back until a day later.

If Boris noticed it went completely unmentioned. Theo got over his bullshit and they finally meet for dinner and things resume back to normal. Until the next hiccup comes again. It has to. Theo is designated to fuck up. Whatever higher power constructed their shitty universe it had cursed Theo from birth.

When Boris apologized again for taking the Goldfinch, they’re drunk and they’re in Monaco. They had spent the night getting epically drunk. It was the anniversary of Theo’s father’s death and they are both feeling particularly nostalgic, sick with it. Boris is sitting on the stool of the kitchenette at Theo’s hotel room and staring out the window with dead eyes.

Theo was sure he’d never seen Boris looking so broken. He’d stared in shock and had expected, for sure, to feel the anger he had been harboring since that day because he had been sure he hadn’t forgiven Boris. It wasn’t there, though.

They had killed for each other and Theo knew that, even with how deeply it had terrified him, he would kill for Boris again. He didn’t say this. He said nothing. Instead he took Boris’ hand and shook his head and they didn’t speak of it again.

Next time it’s Prague when everything changed. Theo had just finished with the changeling and Boris had coaxed him to stay an extra night---maybe two, eh? It’s late autumn and the air was crisp. They spend the entire day together, just walking around the city. Boris has spent a lot of time there before and pointed out anything interesting they passed along the way, never really stopping. Theo was more interested in the antique shops, managing to find a few small Christmas gifts for Hobie and Mrs. Barbour. They finish the day at a small cafe for dinner after making a weak attempt at trying to get a look at Our Lady before Týn but the crowds are just too dense.

Theo is fine with this. He’d rather enjoy a bottle of wine and a board of cheese and bread with Boris then stare at some old church right now. The city looks beautiful at night and slowly but surely they make it back to Boris’ hotel room.

“All this walking has worn me out,” Boris whined around a wide yawn, flopped down with his head hanging off the bed.

Across from him Theo is lounging in winged-armchair thinking much the same. “You’re getting old,” he replied dryly and lit up a cigarette. Boris balked at him and threw a pillow, which Theo didn’t even make an effort to dodge it as it missed by a mile and landed somewhere by the dresser.

“Tomorrow you want to see the Národní?” Boris asked as he flipped himself over. Theo really liked the way he said _Národní_.

“Yeah,” Theo replied without really thinking, mostly just watching as Boris dug a joint out from his jeans pocket and placed it between his pursed lips, “I guess.”

“Supposed to have some Gothic show,” Boris said. He didn’t seem to be aware of Theo’s intense inspection, too absorbed in trying to get his lighter to catch.

“Here.” Theo got up to pressed his working lighter into Boris’ palm. Boris always used cheap drugstore lighters and Theo had years ago given up on them, investing in a zippo.

“Ah yes, your bourgeois lighter,” Boris declared and flipped the lid opened and lit the lighter in one move.

Theo gave him an unimpressed look. “That makes no goddamn sense,” he replied, knowing full-well that Boris had only said it to rile him up. It worked. “I got that fucking Zippo at Walmart.”

“Then it is cursed by Walton family.” Boris gave an aggrieved shudder and laughed when Theo shoved his shoulder and stole the joint from him. Boris found the remote and turned the TV on to some random crap and they sat around with their joint, passing it between them until it was kicked. Their museum plan was all there was before Theo had to catch the train to Václav on his way to fly back out to America.

For all his teasing Boris earlier, he felt tired, too, and was ready for bed by the time they had finished the joint. The weed Boris had gotten them this time hadn’t helped much, making him feel sluggish. He watched as Boris got up to head into the bathroom.

After a while, Theo finally pulled himself off the bed to dig through his bag and sat again in the armchair. He was considering a shower, abundantly aware of the layover hell that awaited him for the next two days, but the motivation just wasn’t in him.

“I’m going to shower, Potter,” Boris was saying in the bathroom, and Theo looked up.

Boris was hunched over the porcelain sink, the threadbare underwear hanging low on his narrow hips and clinging tight to his thighs. Theo’s eyes traced down from there. There was a mole on the back of Boris’ right thigh, hidden amongst the dark hair, and the backs of his knees were pale with bright blue veins but his calves were strong and tapered down into skinny ankles where the tendon stood out and flexed as he moved in front of the sink.

There’s a weird grace to his movements. All Boris was doing was brushing his teeth and humming to himself but it’s still there. Undeniable.

Theo turns his gaze upwards. Boris’ back is a pale, smooth expanse of creamy skin. There are more moles here, too, a divet just above the base of his spine and Theo can count the some of his ribs from here.

The burning ache was back in Theo again. He didn’t feel like he could get air into his lungs fast enough but every pull he could hurt. Boris stood in the bathroom, framed by the red tile, oblivious to Theo’s plight and it was all for the better. But Theo ached. He ached and ached and ached.

“Boris,” he called, voice thick.

Boris turned around and had been about to smile, maybe---crack a joke, maybe---but he saw Theo’s expression and it all fell away. The expression on his face froze like brittle China; cheap and thin and white. Theo stared back at him unblinking and unfeeling. It was plain what he wanted on his face. The high flush of colour on his cheeks, which spread all the way to his chest just visible through his partially unbuttoned shirt. The way he was pulling in air too quickly and his legs had fallen open, spread wide.

“Boris”

A plea.

“Theo…”

A complicated series of emotions passed over Boris’ face. He moved away from the sink, though, leaving his toothbrush behind and wiping a hand over his mouth. His hair was damp at the edges, curling it even more. The light behind Boris haloed him in golden light, which coupled with the red tile, gave him a surreal look like a dramatic Baroque painting. Boris leaned against the door frame and stared back at Theo with far too much understanding than Theo was comfortable with.

“I thought you were asleep,” Boris’ voice was low as he crossed the short distance between them. He leaned over, hands gripping either side of the winged chair and boxed Theo in. There was just enough light in the room for Theo to see the faint needle marks and the blackened veins that webbed away from them.

He reached up to trace his fingers along one and Boris hissed through his teeth.

“I was,” Theo replied and his voice came out in the same tone as Boris’ without his choosing. Intimate. “Boris, I---”

Whatever bullshit Theo had been trying to say was lost as Boris crashed their mouths together, his mouth still tacky with toothpaste. Theo gasped into the kiss, surprised. It was stupid to be surprised. The whole time this was what they had been working towards. Theo had just been too purposefully ignorant to see it.

Boris kissed him with too much reverence, with too much care. Theo wanted to be taken apart, piece by piece.

Theo pushed him back, hand gripping Boris' bicep to keep him from going too far. “What the fuck are we doing?”

“We are kissing, Potter,” Boris shot back with a facetious smirk and Theo thumped him hard on the thigh. “Ow fuck, you bastard. I don’t know, how do you mean? I feel you are asking metaphorically and I cannot answer. I just want to kiss you and... maybe fuck you if you let me.”

Theo felt himself flush hot all the way from his cheeks down to his toes. He hadn’t even considered that far. How had he not considered that far? There were a lot of variables to gay sex that Theo didn’t know and had never experienced and the idea both terrified him and excited him in equal measure. There’d been a time when he had considered it. Fucking another man, in college at a party, but even then there had been an ever present ‘what if’ of Boris. Back then it had angered Theo that Boris was even a consideration. He’d still been convinced Boris had abandoned him.

Yet here he was with Boris leaning over him and pressing burning kisses into the crook of his neck. “I don’t know,” Theo finally said and caught Boris’ hand.

“Okay,” Boris said, as easy as ever. He brought Theo’s hand up to his mouth to kiss at the palm. “What then, hm? Theo? What do you want?”

The question thrilled Theo. It wasn’t as if Boris had never asked this before. Perhaps had even asked Theo hundreds of times but never like this. Never looking at him with hooded eyes and flushed cheeks. Theo shivered as Boris licked his palm and smirked.

In lieu of answering what he couldn’t Theo dragged Boris down on top of him and Boris laughed and slid smoothly into his lap. Boris was heavier than he looked and they were definitely too big to both fit in the armchair but Theo didn’t care. He gripped at Boris’ thighs and kissed at Boris’ laughing mouth.

Boris is warm but all sharp angles and eager searching fingers that quickly stripped Theo of his shirt. The cool air on this bared skin caused Theo to shiver and the bottom dropped out from under his stomach from fear. Suddenly this was all so very real. Boris’ hands on him, their mouths wet and smeared together. It was happening.

The words to stop it were on the tip of Theo’s tongue but Boris was up and off of his lap and then pulling Theo to his feet. “Bed,” Boris was murmuring against his mouth, leading Theo by a firm grip on his hips. Firm enough as if Boris knew Theo was considering running away. His eyes had even darted to the door.

Theo was shoved roughly down onto the bed, which creaked in protest and he cursed loudly along with it. Boris loomed over him and pinned him flat to the bed with a hand to his chest. “I will fuck you, Theo,” Boris drawled as he undid Theo’s belt with one hand.

Fear still clung to Theo and made him feel damp with sweat even with how cold it must be in the hotel room. Boris had sat himself on Theo’s knees, his thighs and ass burning where they touched against Theo’s skin and he felt hyper aware of each point of contact between them and craved more. There was no stopping this now. Even his desire to resist before had been useless. He couldn’t say no.

Theo gasped when Boris finally got his hand on Theo’s cock and squeezed. All thoughts of ever stopping this vanished. “Hm, what do you say?” Boris continued and Theo wanted to tell him to shut the fuck up but the words were caught in his throat, choking him. “I will make you beg for it.”

Not to be out done, Theo toppled Boris over onto the bed and flat onto his back with an outraged cry. There’s a brief moment of struggle, wherein Theo managed rid himself of his slacks and crawl atop of Boris and hold him down by his shoulders. Their hips slot together almost perfectly and before Boris has any time to be sour about his defeat, they just grind---sweaty foreheads pressed together and breathing in the same damp air.

It felt better than just dry humping should and any of the doubt that lingered in Theo was chased completely away by it. He sat back to look down at Boris who looked up at him slightly dazed but with a small, lascivious smirk that had Theo flushing.

“I want you to fuck me,” Theo said just to see the colour rise in Boris’ cheeks. He traced his fingers down the center of Boris’ chest and then down to the top of those old, ratty underwear and took hold of the waistband to peel them off. Boris’ cock sprung free and caught the underside of Theo’s wrist as it did, leaving a wet smear. Theo paused in shock for a moment, perturbed, while Boris snickered above him.

“I’m so fucking horny, Potter,” Boris whined and worked his hips into slow circles.

Theo winced and punched Boris in the thigh. “You can’t call me Potter during sex, fucking gross.” Boris just laughed, unrepentant, and Theo devested him completely of his underwear. Boris was all angles. He looked healthier than he had when they had reunited, like he was actually eating a regular meal or two a day, but still skinny as fuck and all wiry muscle covered in black hair. His stomach was flat with a thin uneven pattern of hair around his belly button that lead down into his pubes, which were surprisingly neatly trimmed.

Boris watched Theo stare, hands tucked behind his head. “Better to touch then just stare,” he suggested as if to a child.

“Fuck off,” Theo muttered simply out of habit but he took the advice and ran his fingers through the hair along Boris’ belly, amused by how the muscles jumped under his touch. The hair was not unpleasant as he feared. Boris’ skin and hair was smooth under Theo’s palms and only caught when he dragged his fingernails.

He touched everywhere: along the smooth planes of Boris’ chest; counted each one of his ribs that he could feel with his fingers; through the hair on his belly; the surprisingly angular hip bones that jutted out at his waist; between the warm cavity of his thighs, fascinated by the dark hair. Boris groaned softly all the while, recumbent on the bed as he let Theo do as he pleased.

Theo wanted to take a photo: here was Boris in repose.

By the time Theo had made it to pressing his thumbs into the arches of Boris feet just to see him shake and curse in Polish, Boris had had enough.

“I’m done with this!” he exclaimed and flailed upwards. Theo barked a laugh and they tumbled over together in a flurry of limbs.

The tussle did not last long---at least not nearly as long as it might’ve when they were boys. Boris pushed Theo over once more and slid his hand between his thighs to cup at his balls and squeeze, the expression on his face especially wicked as Theo moaned.

“I don’t have lube,” he was saying but most of Theo’s focus was on the finger was pressed to the skin behind his balls. “But I have a condom so we can make do?”

Theo just nodded his head dumbly, struck mute. Whatever it took, he did not care. They were in this race to the finish now. If he chickened out now, he would be the loser. Theo would be a coward like he’d been every day when they were teens, refusing to put to words what they’d drunkenly done in the dark. Mistakes, he’d called them, then, but never ever aloud, not even when Boris would stare at him long and quiet when Theo’s touch had lingered just a little too long when they’d traded a cigarette.

He was older now, wiser. More aware of his lifelong passion for making stupid choices. Theo was very good at seeing what he wanted. He could see that he wanted Boris but could he say it? No. He had been very good at seeing he wanted Pippa but had he ever been able to say it? No. Not until it was in the worst most cock-up way possible, which had only earned him a year long silence and a succinct rejection.

The difference with Boris was this: Boris would not let him fuck this up.

“Okay,” Theo said as these thoughts tumbled uselessly in his head, his mouth dry. Boris was across the room now and digging around in his suitcase. With a triumphant cry he produced what actually looked to be several condoms.

“Ah, more than one,” Boris said sounding rather pleased with himself. He rounded on Theo and climbed onto the bed again, his still stiff cock bobbing between his thighs. Theo’s mouth was very quickly no longer dry.

Boris shoved him onto his back once more and sat between Theo’s thighs, which he spread apart. “Wider,” he cooed, followed by a string of Russian pet names and foul idioms that had Theo’s face flaming red. His Russian was good enough to catch the meaning of the majority of what Boris was cajoling him to do.

Clever fingers pressed against his ass, a sensation so new that it had Theo jumping. Boris shushed him and pumped a hand on his cock and leaned in to kiss him. It was easy to be distracted by the hand on his cock even with how strange Boris’ fingers felt inside of Theo---at least until Boris’ pressed against what could only have been his prostate. Theo gasped and felt his hips jerk and that wicked look was back on Boris’ face as he dug his finger into the tight little bud of nerves over and over and over.

“Fuck--I’ll come if you keep doing that.”

“That is the idea,” Boris replied back but he had one hand tight on the base of his own cock. “For you to come.”

Theo didn’t want to come just yet but he’d probably been hard for almost an hour now, for how long they’d been going at this, since it had all started with him staring at Boris in the bathroom. He groaned weakly and gripped at Boris’ hair. It took just one more twist of Boris’ wrist and Theo was spilling in hot, white stripes across his belly and Boris’ knuckles.

It felt surreal, like a snapshot from another time, like they had done this before. Theo panted damp air into the back of his hand and wasn’t sure when he’d put it there. Boris had three fingers up his ass now.

“I passed out?”

“A little bit, I think,” came the reply, just a bit smug.

Theo hid his face behind his hands and his cheeks damp under his hands, probably a mixture of both tears and sweat. “M’ready,” Theo said after he took a stabilizing breath. Boris’ fingers were circling too close to his prostate again and Theo slapped at his arm. “Boris, c’mon---”

Boris was staring at Theo with open faced hunger and Theo felt his heart stutter and stop for just a beat and knew, without a doubt, how keenly he would crave to see this again and again from Boris after this. “Fuck me, Boris,” he demanded without a second thought.

They fell over into another confusing tangle of limbs and crashing mouths that did not really kiss so much as exchange air, and Boris pulled Theo’s thigh up over his hip and in some feat of true coordination managed to push himself inside of Theo. Blinding red motes of pain blossomed to life in Theo’s eyes and he cried out, falling back against the mattress. Boris held onto him, crooning again, so gently, as he worked his cock into Theo until it was as deep as it’d go, their hips flush.

Theo stared up at the cracked ceiling above and felt his hips shake, felt the sweat cling to his clammy skin, and felt the burning, undeniable length of Boris’ dick inside of him. It didn’t quite hurt. Boris had been thorough in preparing Theo for the stretch but it lingered just on the threshold of pain. Like he’d just been punched in the gut, almost, but the feeling just wouldn’t leave him.

Gradually it did and Theo relaxes and this seemed to be what Boris is waiting for, hovered over him, face half hidden by his dark curls. “Good?” Boris asked but his voice is tight.

“Yeah.”

The last of Boris’ self control seemed to break at this because he began to fuck Theo in earnest. It was easy to lose himself to the tide of it. Boris was nearly mindless with it, nearly driven to the edge by how well he’d taken care of Theo and Theo’s heart ached at the thought. With each stroke the blunt head of Boris’ cock managed to just catch Theo’s prostate and, though he didn’t think he could come again, it made him groan and shudder in chorus with Boris.

Boris’ pulled his hips up higher, arms strong around Theo’s waist and Theo felt Boris’ cock slide just that much deeper inside of him. He cried out, back arched in a perfect bow, and Boris was fucking into him hard enough that it the sound of slapping skin filled the room. Theo could already feel the ache of it, the promise of later pain, in the base of his spine, but he didn’t care.

“Do you feel me?” Boris was saying, he was pressing Theo’s shoulders down onto the bed and hunching over him, nails digging in. “I’m inside you, Theo, Theo, _The_o.”

Theo pulled him into an open mouthed kiss and for a moment, all their movements stilled, and they just rocked, two missing pieces that fit perfectly together. Boris broke away with a gasp and the look of pure adoration on his face broke Theo’s heart and he felt like he could probably come again, maybe he had? --and Boris kept fucking him until he finally slowed to jerky, stuttering stops.

“Boris,” Theo breathed and Boris slumped over on top of him, heavy dead weight. Theo cradled him, turning onto his side so they could lie side-by-side with their legs tangled together. Boris stared at him in a daze and Theo cupped his face, feeling as equally stupefied.

There was something to be said but it was too much. Theo was that coward he’d always been and maybe always will be. He didn’t know but Boris was still here and that had to mean something, right? Boris put a hand over his and sighed, eyes falling shut.

“You’ve worn me out again,” he said quietly.

“You’re getting old,” Theo replied. Maybe it was a joke between them now.

“We are,” Boris replied and his voice was thick and Theo realized, then, that they were both cowards. “We are together.”

**Author's Note:**

> you know sometime a bitch don't want no internalized homophobia all right?? be the change you wanna see in the world. i just want boys to be fuckin' and wildin', ya feel? i dont have time for anything else thanks!!
> 
> anyway this is 100% indulgent. take from it what you will.
> 
> check out my goodreads: https://www.goodreads.com/softpanic  
check out my twitter: https://twitter.com/yoloshoujo


End file.
